This is quite a long story. I had thought to break it up into chapters, but felt it might spoil the flow. I hope you enjoy it!
Pamela, our next-door neighbour was, by any measure, unremarkable. In her fifties, she was about a Size 14, of average height and had mousey brown hair of average length. She wasn't unattractive, but certainly not the kind of woman that many men would actively lust after. The only word you could really use to describe her was 'average', which might be a little unkind, but true.
I'm Alan. My wife Mandy and I had moved here with our two kids about eighteen months previously and would exchange pleasantries with Pamela over the fence. The conversation would usually be in some reference to the weather, in typical British fashion. The only occasion I talked to her for more than a few minutes, was the time she accidentally chopped through the cord of the hedge trimmer. I offered to safely repair the cable, so she could continue using it.
Over time, we found out that she had been divorced ten or twelve years earlier and had bought her house out of the settlement. She worked as a receptionist at the local doctor's surgery, so would usually walk or cycle to work. Apart from shopping, she seemed to rarely go out, except for attending the Zumba class at the local village hall on a Wednesday evening.
Pamela tended to keep herself to herself, which we were both happy about, as we didn't really like the kind of neighbours who constantly call round for a cup of coffee and a natter. We both worked quite long hours, me at an engineering company, Mandy as a senior carer at a residential old folks' home. Mandy always worked nights because the pay was better. The original idea was that she could do three or four 12-hour nights, then have a few days off, to be with us. But it rarely worked out like that. Other staff would call in sick; holiday cover was needed; staff would just leave. So the duty manager was frequently on the phone, asking her to 'do them a huge favour' and work an extra night. Or two. Or three.
With two young children to care for, this made for a pretty exhausting schedule for Mandy, and shifted a lot of the parenting duties onto me. None of which I minded, as she was only trying to help provide for our family. But needless to say, this lifestyle didn't do much for our sex life. We were only in our thirties and should have been at it like rabbits. But on the rare occasions that we were in bed together at the same time, she was invariably dog tired. After spending twelve hours on her feet, the last thing on her mind was changing into sex goddess mode. All of which was perfectly understandable, but frustrating for me, none the less. Although we had been together over ten years, I still loved, and fancied my wife a lot. She had a perfect Size 10 figure with a peach of a bottom, and 34 B-cup boobs, which were topped with the most perfect nipples I've seen on any woman.
Our social life was equally limited. With young children, even an outing to the local pub was quite a novelty, with the difficulty of arranging a responsible babysitter. So our lives had settled into a seemingly unending routine of working, sleeping, eating and looking after the kids, probably like many other hard-working young couples.
Sadly, much of the time, my only sexual gratification was masturbating to a porn movie after the kids were settled in bed. There were a few occasions when I was feeling horny in bed and would press my aching erection against Mandy's peachy bottom. She would sometimes respond with a drowsy "Help yourself if you like... as long as you don't mind screwing the dead," and would promptly fall into a catatonic sleep.
There were times when I admit that I did take advantage of her offer. Mandy would invariably sleep in T-shirt and knickers ('In case I need to see to the kids', she would say), so the task involved either trying to pull the gusset to one side or easing them down over her hips far enough to allow access to her delightful pussy. The challenging part was to get the material past the area where she was lying on it, without waking her. But once I'd managed to haul them down far enough, I was able to move closer and steer my throbbing cock between her legs. By this point, I would be really turned on, with the pressure in my balls aching for release. She wouldn't usually be very wet at all, but my leaking precum would provide all the lubrication needed.
Depending on the exact position of her body, it often proved quite difficult to actually get my cock into her pussy. It would be easy to rub it in between her pussy lips, which was pleasant enough, but not to gain that blissful and satisfying deep entry I so craved.
After a few attempts, I found it was much easier to 'accidentally' probe my cock against the tight little bud of her anus. Now Mandy had never really been 'into' anal sex, except on the odd occasion when she'd had too much to drink and lost her inhibitions. But with her fast asleep, here was a chance to satisfy my desperate urge to come and have the added delight of ejaculating into her tight little bottom.
I found that if I maintained a steady, gentle pressure, her little ring of muscle would suddenly relax, and the head of my cock would pop inside her anus. This was the moment of truth. At this point, she would either shift position and spit me out, yanking her knickers back up in sleepy annoyance, or she would continue to lay there, breathing deeply. I would lay motionless, my heart thumping in my chest, trying to control my breathing -- and resisting the overwhelming urge to ram my swollen cock right up her rectal passage.
The most delightful thing about these moments, was that her anus would involuntarily twitch and contract, gripping my sensitive cock just below the head, as if her arse were subconsciously processing the feeling of the intrusion. There were times when I was happy to just lie still and revel in the delight of her sphincter sucking and milking my throbbing cock, as I got closer and closer, finally orgasming and jetting my heavy load into her rectum.
Other times, I would be braver and gently push my cock further up her arse, knowing that all the while, she could suddenly stir from sleep and eject my aching prick from her warm tunnel. That fact alone, added so much to the excitement. So any movement or thrusting had to be cautious and gently progressive. When I got really lucky, I was sometimes able to bury my whole length inside her, and have a little time gently sliding in and out, before the urge to come became too strong, and I would loose salvos of creamy spunk deep inside her tight hole.
When I finally withdrew my softening cock, I would always get a tissue and clean up round her arse, before pulling her knickers back up. The funny thing was, she never once commented about her bum being full of spunk, nor made any reference to a strange wet patch in her knickers. Maybe she did know but was prepared to turn a blind eye to me getting a bit of stolen satisfaction once in a while.
So, our sex lives went through this recurring cycle of the occasional bout of wonderful normal lovemaking; sometimes wanking to porn and the rare, but intensely delightful stolen bum-fuck.
Then everything changed in a very odd way. Pamela (remember Pamela?) had invited Mandy round for a glass of wine one evening, when Mandy actually had a rare night off. I really wasn't best pleased, as we had so little time to spend together as it was. But Mandy said that Pamela was in need of someone to talk to, as she needed some advice. She said she would only be gone a couple of hours. So I cleared up the dishes, put the kids to bed, then settled down to watch some TV with a glass of wine for myself.
A couple of hours later, Mandy returned and gave me a kiss on the cheek. She had obviously enjoyed Pamela's hospitality, as she was a little tipsy, but still fetched herself another glass and refilled mine.
"How did the agony aunt thing go?" I asked her.
"Do you mind turning the TV off, please? I have something to run by you."
I wasn't watching anything in particular, so I clicked the remote and silence fell. I turned to Mandy, inviting her to speak.
"Okay, this is the situation with Pamela. Basically, she has man-trouble."
"Eh?" I responded, puzzled. "She must have kept that quiet... we've never seen any visitors to speak of, and she hardly ever goes out!"
Mandy went on, "That is actually the problem. She hasn't got a man. She got divorced twelve years ago and well, to be blunt, hasn't had any sex for about fifteen years."
I must have looked somewhat stunned. I was also silently thinking that I wasn't doing too badly in that department, comparatively speaking.
